


Soot and Ash makes it Hard to Breathe

by lemondrxps



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Death, Emotional Manipulation, Not Canon Compliant, dream does his thing you know the usual, graphic depictions of death, the afterlife, tommy comes to terms with what he can do as being dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29920194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemondrxps/pseuds/lemondrxps
Summary: Where do you go when you die?It was a question that Tommy didn't think much of, despite the death in his life.Even so, he knew he'd find out some day.
Kudos: 10





	1. Shout at the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this before dream revived tommy! so things aren't exactly canon. i also will update as often as i can, but i don't have a solid writing schedule.

_ Is this how Wilbur felt? _

The obsidian was both cold and hot against his skin, a foreign purple liquid dripped from the ceiling overhead, like tears. It could almost remind him of rain. 

He couldn’t focus on much, the heat made his vision wave like the air would on hot summer days in L’manburg. The thought could almost make him smile, but he hardly had the energy to keep his eyes open, let alone reminisce about the past. 

Yet, he wondered if this was how Wilbur felt. Though, from the shelled ghost he’d heard Wilbur thought his death was rather pleasant. 

This wasn’t  _ that _ . Wilbur had died, but he’d died in a crescendo, his symphony song loud and booming, never ending. He was happy, wasn’t he? The way he grinned, arms open at the second explosion which had blown their country to pieces. He laughed. Wilbur had been happy when he died, held by a man who’d supposedly loved him. 

_ Phil… _ he’d called for him at first. He didn’t know why. The man was never his father, but he was Wilbur’s. Maybe he hoped that meant something. Wilbur had spoken highly of him, Techno had trusted the man. He protected Techno, he’d loved Wilbur. He thought  _ maybe… _

Thinking hurt, it was hard to do. His breathing, the wheezes were loud. He’d suffered for over a week, and once again he’d been left to suffer for longer. Of course it wouldn’t have been quick, he never got that luxury. He never had peace,  _ he couldn’t even die in peace _ . 

The room was a haze of orange and purple, the glow of the lava and glow stone blurring together. He could only hear the hum of the heat and the dripping from… he couldn’t tell if it was that purple stuff or his own blood. It was dripping and breathing, that’s all he could hear. Dream had gone silent for the first time in weeks. Maybe he thought Tommy was already dead.  _ Couldn’t he hear the way he clung to every breath like it was his last? _

Soon enough, Dream would be alone again. The cat was gone too… the cat. He hadn’t meant it, he’d tried just shoving it away. He’d never been fond of cats, but he wouldn’t… he hated the killing of innocent animals. He’d fought for them once. 

He hated the person he was around Dream. He’d hated what he’d become. He hated Dream. The cat hadn’t deserved what had happened. 

Black spots dotted his vision, dancing around the orange glow. He’d felt this way before,  _ dying _ . He’d died before. Dream had killed him before. Dream had said it wasn’t his time to die, that he was too fun to play with. 

_ Why was it that the adults got to play around with their toys, but not him? _

His vision blurred, he couldn’t tell from what. Too many variables- he hated math. He wanted to cry for Sam again, but nothing but his own choked gasps escaped his lips. 

This wasn’t fair. He had to protect Tubbo. He had a hotel to run. He’d finally been free, for the first time since the beginning. 

He wouldn’t let Dream kill him. He wouldn’t die because Dream wanted him too. Tommy couldn’t let that happen, not again. He couldn’t… Dream couldn’t win. 

It felt like he was pushing the Overworld out of orbit as he pushed himself over, from his back to his side to his stomach, wheezing out as it felt like his lungs were being crushed. Who was it who’d held up the world? Who pushed the boulder for eternity? Maybe he should’ve paid attention to Technoblade’s stories. 

Black spotted his vision as he reached out to the radiating heat from the sheet of lava which blocked him from the outside. 

The lava had been comforting, from the early days in exile. How it swirled around and bubbled, popping with an energy and fury that Tommy had once shared. It was warm, opposed to the cold of the rainy nights sat in Tnret, or how cold Tommy felt now. 

Dream couldn’t kill him. If he could do anything, he’d go out on his own terms. Dream couldn’t win, he couldn’t let that happen. 

He pulled himself an inch, grasping desperately at the volcanic glass which made up the room. It was hot and cold and slippery in water and blood. 

He managed to brush his fingers against the molten rock cascading down the side of the room, it’s burning heat felt like nothing more than if he’d scuffed his fingers against a flint and steel. 

Another sound joined the dripping and his uneven breathing. Footsteps. Boots.  _ Dream _ . 

_ No no no _ . He couldn’t just let him have this, could he? Desperately he reached out for the lava, but the weight of the universe fell on his back, squeezing out all air from his lungs. 

“They  _ really _ should put rails around lava when you’re around,” He could feel the glare from the masked man above him, pinning him to the obsidian. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Did I say you  _ could _ do that? Can’t even die  _ right _ , can you Tommy?  _ Jeeze _ , I thought you were pathetic, but you’re really trying to take the easy way out aren’t you? You’ve made everyone around you suffer, and you can’t even die like a ‘big man’,  _ can you? _ ”

Tommy choked, grasping desperately toward the lava, the glow of the room dimming as blotches closed in on his vision. 

“What did Techno say? Die like a hero, didn’t he, Tommy? Coward couldn’t do it himself, protected you even. He calls you Theseus- you know what happened to Theseus,  _ don’t you _ ?”

“Betrayed by the man who took him in. Lycomedes, wasn’t it? Well, you’ve had many Lycomedes, lucky you. Never thought  _ Sam _ would get in on the story. Throwing you off a cliff would’ve been too easy, besides… there’s so many retellings of the story.  _ In this one, he threw you in an inescapable hole. _ ”

He stared at the lava, noticing the way the curtain gapped near the edge of the obsidian. It was falling. 

“How’s it feel? Everyone close to you betrays you. First it was Wilbur, that was a funny one, wasn’t it? Then Tubbo, Technoblade, Tubbo  _ again _ ! Now Sam? You should’ve listened to me out there in exile, maybe you could’ve been good for something if you listened.  _ Some hero you are, look at you! _ ”

“You want to  _ talk _ , don’t you? Scream, cry,  _ plead _ ? Shout, Tommy!  _ Shout _ ! No one will answer, they won’t!  _ They don’t fucking love you Tommy, they don’t _ ! I was the only one there, and this is what you’ve done to your only friend? You’ve  _ made _ me do this Tommy.”

The weight lifted for a moment, Tommy gasped with a wheeze, barely filling his lungs, watching the lava move. Sam was here, he could see his name.

_ Sam Sam Sam _ . He wanted to scream for him, reach out. He was the closest Tommy had ever had to a father in his life. Wilbur had been his brother. Tommy had raised himself, fought for himself when he’d been found by the kind man in the bright yellow sweater, singing songs and promises of his safety. He’d been his brother. 

Sam had been his father, if only for a short while. Nights spent in his dirt hut or hotel, confiding in the man. The therapeutic game they played to build up his hotel, being protected and not having to fight. 

“W...wr..wrong, not...no..t,” speaking was a struggle he’d never had before. Words would fly out his mouth like the wind against the trees. Now he felt like he was sinking and  _ drowning _ just to utter a few words. 

“N...not a he...her..o.”

“ _ Finally _ ! Something we can agree on,” The masked man laughed, clapping his hands, “You’re no hero Tommy! Never have been, and you never will be. Heroes are remembered, cared about, loved and adored. I promise you one thing, I will get out of here, and I will make sure there’s no sign that you ever existed. I won, and you lost, and you’ll die here without anyone to mourn you.”

“W...wro..ng.”

The weight was back, Dream’s boot pressing deep into his back, not even a cry could escape Tommy’s lips. He blinked slowly, gazing as the lava fell suddenly to reveal Sam, swirling particles of orange around him. The bridge hadn’t even been deployed, he’d swam through the lava before it felt, not waiting even a second. 

The thought made Tommy feel warm for a moment, and he finally spared the energy to give off a wheezy laugh. 

“Y...you...los...lost.”

“I didn’t  _ lose _ , Tommy, you’re the one—“

The weight was suddenly heavy then gone all at once. He could breathe again, for a moment, but it was getting harder and harder, his lungs heavier and heavier. He balled his fist before going limp, turning his head in time to see Dream pinned down against the dirtied obsidian. 

His ears rang, vague shouting muffled in the back, the black blotches were back, his eyelids heavy as he simply shut them. A somber waltz grew from quiet to loud, louder than the ringing, louder than the shouting.

For a moment, just a moment, he was sitting at the bench again. He heard his name among the tune before silence washed over him. 

  
_ Was this how Wilbur felt? No. He died in the arms of someone who’d loved him. _


	2. Slip the face, Slip the victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd heard many things about the afterlife. He didn't quite know what to expect, or who he'd see first.

_ Ghostbur was right. _

There wasn’t much waiting for you when you died. Just an inky black void, dripping in an echoed silence. 

Tommy hated the silence, it reminded him of Pogtopia. A stuffy, damp, and cold cave, where the silence kept him up at night. Occasionally there would be a shout from his crazed brother somewhere down the ravine, or perhaps the clang of a pickaxe or the dripping of water somewhere, but otherwise it had been silent. 

_ Pogtopia had been awful _ , it had been where his claustrophobia had really begun to develop, maybe his fears of abandonment had been strengthened there too. The room of redstone was one he didn’t like to think about. 

Ghostbur had failed to mention that someone would be waiting for him on the other side. Someone who picked him up from the nonexistent floor, brushing their hand through his matted and messy hair, brushing their fingers against his cuts and bruises. 

This time, he’d died. He’d died without a respawn.

He was still dying, even though he was already bled. Wounds bled, he hurt just as bad as he did laying there on the obsidian, maybe worse due to the emotions that came with knowing you were dead. 

Someone else was there.

_ Someone who took the pain of life away. _

Someone who hummed to him a song, a song he knew well. The sound made him think of the vinyl disc still tucked away in his enderchest, one he’d gotten from Technoblade. 

_ Wait had always been one of his favorite discs. _

Looking up at the person caused him to wince, they were glowing, ethereal. They’d healed his wounds from life, the physical ones, anyway. 

They laughed, presumably at him. Who else would they laugh at. Tommy grumbled, “Oi— don’t you fuckin’ laugh at me, I’m a big man, don’t know what I could do.”

“Oh, try me. I’ve dealt with plenty of  _ big men _ in my life. No worries though, Toms. You’re a pretty tough guy.”

Tommy blinked, squinting as he got used to the glowing, getting a good look at who they were. 

_ Oh. She was a woman. _

“Must be in heaven—” 

Death laughed softly, “Never change, Tommy.”

It was then he noticed her wings, her halo, her scythe. He was talking to death. Why did her wings look so familiar?

They were a bright white, cascading behind her like a cloak, patterned with black diamond like patterns...Phil. They were the opposite of Phil’s. Phil had been called the Angel of Death, hadn’t he? That’s what Techno had said. 

“You’re death,” The teen blurted, staring up at her. She laughed again. 

“I have many names. I do believe your brother called me mum... _ za _ .”

“No- No way- Wilbur- you’re Wilbur’s  _ mum— _ ” He stammered before being hit with the realization, “Phil never mentioned he had a wife! That  _ old man _ — fuckin’ prick, never mentioned— Wilbur never mentioned—”

Death laughed at him again, “Phil is quite old, isn’t he?”

“That he is!  _ Motherfucker _ walks around with a cane, probably eats porridge too.”

He hunched himself over, acting like he had such a cane, “Oh look at me, my name is Philza Minecraft and I am old,” before laughing loudly, “And you’re Wilbur’s mum! Knew he had to come from somewhere, honestly thought he may have just appeared.”

Death laughed too, her laugh echoed and radiated throughout the void of the veil, “I never expected Phil to be ready for children, he was always more of an adventurer. I suppose… I do suppose I was right, in the end. Trust me, he’ll get a stern talking to when I see him next.”

Death hummed, her tone changing. She sounded like a mother, fond and sad when thinking about Phil, at least Tommy thought she did. He wondered how it felt, how it felt to have escorted your son away from life. He wondered how it felt to have a mother regardless. Even if he had one, he couldn’t remember her. 

“Tommy… Wilbur loved you like a  _ brother _ . You  _ were _ his brother. I give everyone who passes here a few questions they can ask, and a decision to make.”

Tommy didn’t like how this was going. He liked the jokes, the laughter. He didn’t like how serious this turned.

She clapped her hands together, “And I’ll give the same to you. I can only give you the ability of 3 questions, and I can’t promise answers for all of them, but… I’ll try my best.”

Three questions- any questions? That was hardly fair. Tommy didn’t like thinking, and he had too many questions. Questions about life, about death, about those he cared about. 

His whine up at Death caused her to laugh again, and he took another moment to think about his first question. They had to count, they just had to. Family, family was on the mind. 

“Do- did I have a family?” 

Death’s smile was sad.

“Of course you had a family, Toms. You had a family who loved you very much. You have a family who is mourning your absence. You’ve shaken the whole server with your leave, Tommy. You had a family, you still do.”

“No— I mean,  _ I know _ , but I mean before, before I met Wilbur. I’ve been on my own my whole— my whole life. Fuckin’ I want…” 

“Toms… You did, yes. I’ve not spoken to your mother since… since you were alone on that  _ awful island _ .  _ You’re a child of the stars and of music _ , Tommy. She watches over you. I’ve seen and heard her mourn… I will not be unfair to you and have you waste a question. I am not allowed to let you see her, Toms. One day, perhaps. But you have a family, one closer than that, one back on the Overworld.  _ You were loved, Toms _ .”

Of the stars and music. Funny. He could only think of  _ Chirp _ , of the space woman... _ Clara _ . He didn’t know her, so he wasn’t saddened by being unable to meet her. It was nice to know he came from somewhere. That she was sad and could see him. It was comforting, somehow. 

It also comforted him to hear he was missed. Dream had fucked him up, made his brain all fuzzy and confused. He’d lost his mind, his rational. It was clear now, but hearing that people did love and care, it was something that he needed, closure he didn’t quite know he needed.

How were they? How was Tubbo taking this? Not a few months prior he’d been willing to die just so Tommy could live, now? He trusted Tubbo was okay. Tubbo was strong, one of the strongest people he’d ever met. Plus… he and Ranboo had been getting close, hadn’t they? Or he and Jack, or Sam. Tubbo would be fine. Surely he would. 

Surely the others would too. Fuck, his hotel. He hoped Sam Nook would take care of it, or Jack. He was worried about Jack, worried he was a wrongun, but the hotel was in his hands now, wasn’t it? He’d left so much behind. He hadn’t been ready to die, but that was fitting, wasn’t it? Wilbur said he was near death- he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. 

“Wilbur— where… where’s Wilbur? He spoke to me when me and Tubbo- when we’d… gotten back— he said he’d felt the veil opening.  _ This is that- isn’t it? _ Where is he?” 

“He’s waiting for your decision. You’ve got one more question before the choice, he’s waiting. Trust me,” Death chuckled, “If I wasn’t making him wait, he would’ve been the one to meet you here.”

“Clingy, isn’t he? Bitch...fuckin’ left me then…” He grumbled to himself, bringing his hand up to wipe building tears away with his palm. He’d missed Wilbur. He was scared at times. Pogtopia scared him. Wilbur’s end scarred him. And yet he’d found himself wanting to see him over and over. He was the only reason he let Dream keep his last life- son of a—

“What the  _ actual fuck _ is Dream’s problem? Weird ass obsession with me and power and fuckin’ weird ass god complex…”

“That… I wish I knew an answer to that, Tommy. He’s… he’s been  _ causing problems _ . He toys with the concept of death. I don’t like that. He throws lives around like they’re meaningless, worthless. I am not the one who takes lives, I’m simply the ones who carry the dead away from life. He takes them without mercy, far before they should.”

“Tommy… you weren’t  _ supposed _ to die. Human lives are short and fragile, so small compared to the time I’ve been around. You’ve only been on the Overworld for 16 years, Tommy. It wasn’t your time to die, it truly wasn’t. He thinks he’s powerful, but he has to fight and take and torment to get his power. He had no power in the first place, he takes it and makes it out to be greater than it is.”

“Toms, you weren’t supposed to die, not  _ yet _ . He’s causing problems, giving me more work to do. That damn book. I’ve given only a select few power over my job. Blessings of mine. That book was crafted for an old friend. Mr. J. Schlatt somehow got his hands on it, and now it’s in the possession of Dream.  _ I fear for you, Toms _ .”

“The— the book was real? It was fuckin’  _ real _ ?”

Even when dead, Dream still had his dirty hands all over him,  _ his _ fate. It made him sick. 

“You’re tellin’ me he can bring me back, torture me some more,  _ whenever he fuckin’ wants _ ?”

“Only if you let him. That’s the thing about life and death. Death can be chosen for you, forced upon you. Life… can’t. He can try, he sure can, but you can deny him of it, every time he does.”

“There is one exception to this… but you don’t have to worry about that, Toms. He has no access to that.”

The news let him relax some, though he was still on edge. Even in death, he was nothing more than a threat to his loved ones, something to be held over their head. He didn’t like that, not one bit. 

“That’s all my questions then, innit? What’s that whole fuckin’ decision thing?” 

“Yes, I suppose it’s time for that. Same decision I give everyone. Even when you’re meant to die, unfinished business is often left behind. I give them the decision on whether or not they want to tie up some loose ends.” 

“I can’t bring you back to life completely, you’ll still be dead, but I can let you roam the world of the living for a while. Wilbur asked his questions, most of which involved you Toms, and I gave him the choice. I think you know what he made.”

“Ghostbur, huh?”

“Yes. You see, what manifests is your greatest wants and regrets… that is what manifests back in the world of the living. It helps you complete your business.. Of course, you can’t roam forever. When your business is done and over with, you return here, fully and entirely.”

“That’s where the motherfucker went then, huh-  _ bitch _ .”

Death chuckled softly, “So you get the same decision. You had… a lot you’ve not gotten to do, and it isn’t wise to try and complete it all. Choose what is most important.”

“Can I… see how they’re all doin’ before I chose?”

He really only had a few concerns. He didn’t want to return unless he had to. He remembered Ghostbur, the shell of his brother. It was painful at times to be around him. He didn’t want to do the same. Who knew what he’d be like if he were a ghost. 

That wasn’t something he wanted to put them through,  _ he’d caused enough pain _ . 

“I have no way of showing you,” Death closed her eyes, “But I can tell you. They’re mourning you, Tommy. They’ve built you memorials.  _ They miss you _ .”

“Are they… okay?”

“I… I believe they’ll manage. They’re fighters. Your friends are all fighters, Tommy. They mourn but they do not waste away. They remember you, and they’re making your memory mean something.”

That was… frankly good news. He thought about what he’d do as a ghost. He wanted to warn them of Dream, but he couldn’t guarantee he’d remember that. Jack and Sam could manage the hotel. Tubbo had friends and comfort. Technoblade had Phil. 

With a heavy sigh, Tommy looked up at death.

“I think I’ve made my choice, then.”

“Will you stay here, or will you return?”

“I… I think I’ll stay here. If they’re alright then, I don’t mind bein’ here.  _ Peaceful _ , for once I guess.”

Death nodded, “Then that is your choice. I have a few parting words for you, Tommy. I can sense the others are antsy,” She chuckled, “I agree with what you’d told Dream, Toms. He’s a sad, sad man hiding behind a mask and the title of god. I do not like what he stands for, what he does, but I agree with one thing…”

“ _ Your story is far from over _ , Tommy. In life, perhaps, but in death, it is not. The universe has plans for you.”

Death spread out her wings, and with little hesitation she plucked one of her longer primary feathers, enclosing it in her hands. It glowed, white and silver and bright, and she held her hand out to him.

Sitting on her palm was a whistle made from silver, a delicate chain hung from it and her fingers, “Wilbur is my son, and you are his brother. If I am needed, you need only call.” 

He took the whistle within his hands, looking it over for a moment before pulling the chain over his head, tucking it into his shirt. 

Death smiled at the boy, the boy not yet supposed to be standing before her. She gave a chuckle, “ _ Alright boys! _ ”

And in a mess of feathers and light, Death had left him in the dark and infinite void. There were then voices, the void brightening. 

He squinted and blinked before spinning around. He found himself in a dark room, a table and some sort of television sat up there. There were cards, bottles, and a couch. 

What was most important were the men sitting around the table. One, adorned with horns, a half full bottle in his hands, a set of cards in front of him.  _ Schlatt _ . 

The other had a small radio beside him as he sat on the couch, a familiar mask on his face. The difference was this mask brought him comfort, not pain. Bright colors, and the familiar sound of a guitar came from the radio.  _ Mexican Dream, M.D. _ . 

The last had his back turned, sitting at the table across from Schlatt. He wore a dark coat, his hair messy and sticking every which way. Tommy spotted a beanie on the table.  _ He was here _ . 

“That’s it,  _ lover boy _ . He’s here. Ya owe me 50 fuckin’ schlattcoin. Hand them over.”


End file.
